Bring On The Wonder
by candy4yourEYEZ
Summary: Not all fairy tales have happy endings, and not all bad guys are elaborate fairytale villains. You just have to make the most of the time you have, and deal with the fact that the worst terrors are in your mind. USUK, Alfred/Arthur AU.


It is exactly one year after Alfred and Arthur are just that- Alfred _and_ Arthur, a couple, a single entity- that they find out.

Arthur's headaches get worse, to the point that Alfred forcibly buckles the stubborn Englishman into a car seat and drives him to the doctor himself. Alfred remembers sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chairs, laughing nervously at the neurologist's grim expression, and cracking a half-hearted joke about how the headaches were probably because Arthur read too much.

He wishes with all of the pieces of his shattered heart that his joke is the truth.

* * *

><p>The ride home is uncomfortable; tense. Alfred tries to talk, but anything he tries to say comes out as a sort of choking gasp. Arthur rests his head against the window, and breathes to the beat of the softly playing radio.<p>

Alfred is a medical student himself, and prepares himself for the onslaught of questions as they approach their shared apartment. He sits at their well-worn kitchen table, head in his hands as Arthur makes tea.

"What do you always say?" Alfred stares at Arthur, letting everything that he's keeping out of his voice show through his eyes. "A good cup of tea can fix anything?"

"I don't think a cup is enough to fix this." Arthur hefts his mug, but can't finish his own attempt at humor. Alfred can hear him swallow the lump in his throat in what is now stifling silence. Arthur sits down in the chair across from Alfred, and places a second mug in front of the unresponsive American.

Alfred doesn't know what to do; he wants to scream and cry and complain that it's _not fair_; that of anyone who deserved to be saddled with a terminal brain tumor, a fiery British author is not the one. But he does know that Arthur generally abhors shows of emotion about happenings that he deems unchangeable, and forgoes his own emotional turmoil in favor of letting Arthur maintain his own façade.

"What's going to happen?" Arthur's voice is soft, resigned. It doesn't sound like him. Alfred hates it.

Alfred raises his head to silently plead with Arthur, to tell him _please don't make me say this, I can't be the one to recite your death sentence,_ but Arthur is implacable.

"I don't want to hear it from some tosser who calls himself a doctor; I want to hear it from someone who cares." Arthur's eyes gentle, and Alfred realizes that Arthur knows him better than he knows himself, and that he'll need to say it aloud or he'll wallow in denial, and that that would only hurt Arthur more.

Alfred has to open and close his mouth a few times before he can speak, and when he can, he wishes he couldn't. "We went over this in class a while ago, so I'm pretty sure I can remember it, but you might wanna Google what I say, because I don't even have a degree yet." Disclaimer over with, he takes a deep breath and recites what he saw on a PowerPoint barely a week before. "You'll get really bad headaches, and have issues talking. Your balance goes to hell; so does your vision. Then you have to deal with the aphasia, nausea, muscle weakness, vertigo, and pain in general. I think after that you lose consciousness, and-" Alfred tries to get the words out, but can't speak beyond the growing feeling in his chest. It feels like something's expanding and ripping apart everything inside of him, but stopping just below the skin.

It feels like he's finally realized what's going to happen.

Alfred starts breathing again, deep, shuddering intakes of air, and he registers that his vision of Arthur is suddenly impaired- for a brief moment, he wonders nonsensically if brain tumors are contagious, and if he and Arthur are some twisted modern day version of Romeo and Juliet, fated to die together, and then realizes that he's crying.

"If you get tears in the tea then it tastes salty, and salty tea is probably the worst thing in existence- save that bastardized version of English that you gits speak in this country." Arthur leans over the table and tangles a hand in Alfred's hair. Alfred belatedly sees the matching tears in Arthur's eyes, and hiccups as he tries to remark on them.

"So, all it took was a brain tumor for you to lose your natural loquacity," Arthur says, and with that they both break down, ending up intertwined under the table, Alfred curled around Arthur's shaking body as he cries about the same thing that's causing Alfred's sobs, but not for the same reasons.

It takes almost an hour of shared misery before Arthur collects himself, and they silently agree not to have another breakdown like that again. Alfred suggests informing Arthur's family, and Arthur's reply is caustic enough to dissolve the lingering uncertainty. There will be no more crying jags; Arthur will face this with a stiff upper lip and expects Alfred to do the same.

Later that night, Arthur insists that he needs to go out and 'get something done.' Alfred does not argue with him, and as the moon rises, its light bathes Alfred lying on his back on their bed, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes and contemplating mortality.

* * *

><p>Alfred wakes up when two thin arms wrap themselves around his torso and a head of shaggy blonde hair buries itself his neck. He turns his head and his attention is grabbed by the small, unassuming bottle resting on Arthur's nightstand -two pills, just two tiny pills; Alfred has a friend who specializes in anesthetics and anesthetic overdoses- and instinctively knows Arthur's choice. Arthur is not one to suffer days, maybe weeks of being trapped in his own body, unable to function by himself- he is too proud for that. Alfred can rationally understand Arthur's decision to end it on his own terms. It does not surprise him- Arthur's British stubborn streak runs deep. Alfred just hopes that he is there when it happens. He presses a kiss to the familiar skull and wishes he could be the hero he proclaims himself as and save the one damsel who really matters.<p>

The words _inoperable, too deep to risk it, _and _six or seven weeks_ run through his brain until he falls back asleep. A litany of anguish punctured by the occasional _worst anniversary ever_.

* * *

><p>Arthur refuses to tell anyone; the definition of anyone ranging from his family to his ex-girlfriend who works at the nearest Starbucks and flirts even though she knows it's a lost cause. <em>She doesn't know how lost now.<em>

Alfred tries to convince him that at least the people he grew up with, who raised him, have a right to know, and Arthur fires back with an anecdote from when he was seven years old about finding his handmade birthday present for his mum in the trash the next morning.

Alfred doesn't argue any more after that.

* * *

><p>It doesn't take long before Arthur has a catastrophic meeting with his editor- the aphasia shows up in full force, he pops more Motrin than he should for his headache, and eventually has to run to the nearest restroom to vomit; and then the metaphorical cat is out of the bag.<p>

Alfred thinks that Arthur's editor is a nice lady, even though she takes an extreme interest in his and Arthur's love life (even going so far as to request pictures or video), but that opinion is replaced by a dislike that almost scares him when she takes it upon herself to call up all of Arthur's family and everyone she knows who knows Arthur, and inform them.

Alfred has never been so close to punching a girl.

Now, Arthur cannot go out without getting sympathetic glances, condolences, and what he calls 'emotional rubbish' hurled at him, and he hates it. Alfred barely ducks the book thrown at him in a fit of pique when he has to inform Arthur that his family is going to visit him, and even the apology kisses afterwards don't help Alfred deal with the fact that Arthur is slowly breaking apart, and Alfred can do nothing about it.

* * *

><p>Alfred explains his situation to his professors at medical school, and is allowed to play truant for as long as it takes. <em>Not long,<em> his traitor brain comments, and Alfred stares at everything and sees nothing during the walk home because it's not his brain that's the traitor, it's Arthur's, and Alfred doesn't know how much longer he can last.

Alfred gets back and Arthur asks if he doesn't find him attractive anymore and if the tumor is the reason behind the lack of bedtime activities lately- but Arthur can't find the word for tumor so Alfred says it for him, and Arthur's vision is bad enough that he misses the heartbroken look on Alfred's face.

Alfred makes love to Arthur slowly, promises he'll never leave him, and cries after Arthur falls asleep in his arms.

* * *

><p>When Arthur's family comes to visit, a small part of Alfred is happy. Happy that they cared enough to visit. The rest of him is mainly horrified, and duly so. Arthur's mother arrives reeking of cheap booze, and insists that Arthur visit the doctor of a friend of hers, because 'you can't trust those Americans.' Arthur's sister shows up with tear tracks running down her face and a black eye from a bar fight she confesses she got involved in to make herself feel better. One of his brothers appears to think that yelling about not being told sooner will help in some way, and the other looks at Alfred like it was his fault, and tells Arthur something in Welsh that seems to make Arthur's ever-present headache worse.<p>

Arthur's father is conspicuously absent, both from the room and from conversation.

Alfred remembers the scars and cigarette burns littering Arthur's body and is silently glad.

* * *

><p>After the people who Arthur calls family leave, Alfred hugs him and refuses to let go. Arthur decides that if Alfred is going to be this sentimental, that they will spend the rest of the day doing nothing but talking, and that that endeavor can be accomplished in bed, but requires a good amount of tea.<p>

Alfred makes Arthur's favorite -Arthur is no longer able to lift the heavy kettle.

They huddle under the blanket, Alfred absorbing every detail of Arthur's face, committing it to memory. He is content to sit in silence for once, so Arthur begins to talk.

He tells Alfred about anything and everything; the tortoise he kept as a pet in grade school (named William, after Shakespeare, and how his writing teacher had proclaimed it blasphemy when she heard), how he absolutely could not wear mismatching socks (but he thought it was just a tad adorable when Alfred did by accident), what he thought of Alfred the first time he saw him (that his proportion of intelligence to attractiveness was about 1:20), the best tea he'd ever had (a gift from a friend from Hong Kong after Arthur posted bail), and the book he was currently writing.

"It's fantasy," Arthur whispers, as if it was in the room and listening intently, "but then again, nothing worth living isn't. It's about a boy in a magical world, who has a gift. He can do whatever he wants- talk to dragons telepathically, create gold out of thin air, heal a fatal wound-" at this, Arthur's bright green eyes dim just enough for Alfred to notice. "But whenever he uses it, he loses a day of his life. He goes on a journey to visit the Faery court to ask them to take his gift away, but when he gets there, the Faery Queen gives him a choice. He can go back, and start his life over without the gift, or continue with it. But if he starts over without it, he realizes that the people he healed will stay sick, that the people he helped will have to bear the burden of their troubles alone, and that instead of him dying, many others will because he wasn't there to save them."

"That's a pretty crummy bargain. What does he choose?" Alfred traces Arthur's cheekbones; he's losing weight because of the constant nausea, and they seem to stick out a bit further every day. Alfred would give the rest of his life if it meant he could spare Arthur this.

"You know," Arthur tilts his head and purses his lips, "I'm not sure."

"What would you do?" Alfred asks, not really realizing his question, just trying to preserve this moment- Arthur's startling lucidity after days of lethargy and confusion.

To his surprise, Arthur looks very close to crying.

"I'm not a good person," he says, bringing his mug of tea to his lips even though it must be on the disgusting side of lukewarm by now. Arthur looks back at Alfred and answers. "I think, if it was me… If it was me, and what I'd done had led me to meet you, I wouldn't change it. I'd live as long as I could with you."

Alfred doesn't say his answer, because he knows that Arthur knows it already. _I'd give everything up for you. I already have._

* * *

><p>Finally, eventually, the day comes. Exactly one month after the diagnosis. Arthur has agreed that the people who find a last goodbye absolutely necessary are able to stop by, and that after he has seen the last of them, he'll have 24 hours with Alfred before taking the pills.<p>

His ex from the coffee shop comes, all short skirts and dripping mascara, and tells Arthur that she's glad she broke it off, because it let Arthur meet Alfred, and that any moron with half a brain can see that Alfred is the best thing that's ever happened to Arthur.

Arthur's editor talks about the book Arthur explained to Alfred, and begs him to finish the ending, at least, because she can't bear to not know what she chooses. She then demands to see Alfred kiss Arthur, snaps a picture on her cell phone, and leaves, depositing a folder on the table on the way out.

Some of Arthur's friends from college bring what the albino one insists is _absolutely not_ _a scrapbook, because scrapbooks are unawesome and for pansies. _The cover is embossed with 'The Bad Touch Trio- plus Arthur,' and is full of what 'The Frog' informs Alfred is the history of the best group of miscreants ever. When they leave, they do so with heads down, but Alfred sees the tears hit the floor.

Arthur's siblings are impossible to deter, no matter how much Arthur insists that they should stay home. Each one brings entertainment in their own way, and Alfred thinks that Arthur is better at hiding amusement than he previously thought. A stuffed unicorn from Arthur's sister, who insists that the toy was originally hers, but that she is willing to be the better person and give it to Arthur to end their debate over ownership once and for all. Arthur's eldest brother tries to carry up what is presumably his pet sheep, but is impeded by an angry neighbor (a crotchety old man who neither Arthur nor Alfred ever got along with) waving a copy of the 'no pets allowed' clause of the building's rules. Arthur's other brother gives a very drunken rendition of Arthur's favourite song on the bagpipes, which instigates more yelling from the crotchety neighbor, and the first really good laugh that Alfred has had in a while.

Arthur's mom doesn't visit (it isn't until after that Alfred finds out she was killed by driving into a ravine while drunk), but Arthur doesn't seem to take it too personally.

After what Arthur dubs 'the most irritating day of my life,' Alfred cleans the apartment while Arthur rests in a chair and watches.

Alfred picks up the folder Arthur's editor left, and opens it. Arthur lurches out of the chair and to Alfred's side as Alfred shakes with barely suppressed sobs.

The folder is full of hundreds of pictures; snapshots of Arthur and Alfred in the brief period of time they'd spent together. There is also a sticky note, with "_These are just my favorites"_ written on it, and a flash drive taped to the inside of the folder, with "_The rest"_ written on it in permanent marker (and suddenly, Alfred does not feel like punching Arthur's editor anymore).

Alfred scoops Arthur up in his arms, and they spend hours in bed together, looking at the memories they shared.

* * *

><p>Their last day together progresses much like an ordinary day.<p>

They wake up together, shower together, eat breakfast together, and for the first time, Alfred is struck by how much they have integrated each other into their lives.

He is no longer just Alfred, he is more- he is part of a larger being, Alfred-and-Arthur, because he and Arthur fit together perfectly, Arthur's jagged edges fit Alfred's own, and Alfred never had to try to tame Arthur because Arthur was perfect just how he came. Alfred sees what connects him and Arthur; what he used to imagine as a chain, connecting their minds and their hearts, is actually a thread, thin and breakable but somehow with a strength of its own, and Alfred can't think of how he'll function without Arthur, because it feels like his heart is ripping itself into pieces, and there is that same feeling growing in his chest, and if you take Arthur away then Alfred is less than a person, he is incomplete.

And then Arthur remarks that Alfred is the one burning their toast for once, and Alfred laughs and cries at the same time, and Arthur is alarmed that Alfred's sanity has left him for good, but Alfred sweeps Arthur into an overly dramatic kiss, tilting him backwards in the middle of their smoke filled kitchen, and Arthur ignores the vertigo and the dizziness and kisses back because he knows it's all he can give this wonderful man.

* * *

><p>When the time finally comes, Alfred doesn't cry. He doesn't want Arthur's last memory of him to be of him bawling like a child.<p>

Alfred just holds Arthur, hands him the pills and a perfectly brewed mug of tea to wash them down with.

Arthur tells him that it'll be like he's falling asleep, and Alfred nods and is astonished at Arthur's power of will one last time.

"I don't mind, you know," Arthur says, right before he places the capsules carefully on his tongue and swallows. "If after I'm gone you find someone else. You're allowed to be happy."

"There will never be anyone else," Alfred says, heartbreak coating every syllable. "There's only you. There was only ever you, there will only ever be you."

Arthur twists in his arms so his eyes lock with Alfred's, and mumbles that he wants Alfred's smile to be the last thing he sees, so can Alfred please smile for him, just one more time?

Alfred smiles, not his megawatt grin that he used to flash cute waitresses with, but what Arthur calls his 'lover smile,' the softer smile that Arthur said was 'filled with enough love to spawn thirty trillion of those Valentine's Day cards we laugh at.'

Arthur smiles back, and as his eyes drift shut, Alfred thinks that he looks like a pale, British angel.

Alfred watches the rise and fall of Arthur's chest, barely perceptible, for what seemed like forever, until forever ended, and Arthur exhaled for the last time.

Alfred finds it somewhat odd that the expression Arthur died wearing was the one he used the least, but he can't reflect on that because he's too preoccupied with his tears, and with Arthur in his arms, growing colder by the second.

* * *

><p>Arthur's body being taken away; the funeral; the consoling people- they were all a blur to Alfred. Everything was a blur. He was supposed to give the eulogy, but all he could recall saying was '<em>Arthur Kirkland was the best thing that ever happened to me,'<em> before breaking down in tears again.

Alfred cried a lot after Arthur died, more than he could remember for anything else, but eventually the tears stopped coming.

Eventually, Alfred was able to look through the pictures on the flash drive without having the urge to drive to the cemetery and have a conversation with Arthur's gravestone.

When he was finally able to get through the entire collection, he minimized the window, only to see a document on the desktop entitled '_For Alfred.'_

He opened it, and found Arthur's novel. He read the entire thing, engrossed in a world that was completely _Arthur,_ was all his making, and found a single tear rolling down his cheek when it was time for the hero to make his choice.

_Alfred stood before the Faery Queen, confident in his decision._

"_I have made my decision, your majesty."_

_The queen smiled and motioned for him to continue._

"_I would choose that I keep the life and gift I have been granted, and not start anew- but I have one request."_

"_You shall but name it," the queen answered, raising her eyebrows in curiosity._

"_I wish that whomever I was fated to fall in love with be granted someone who can give them a better life than I could. That they instead find love with someone who will not have their time cut short by their own doing." Alfred bowed his head and held his breath, anxious that his plea not be denied._

_To his surprise, the Faery Queen laughed, a sound that seemed to resonate through his entire being._

"_Oh, you are a lovely human. I knew I picked the right one to give the gift!" She clapped her hands in delight, and laughed again at Alfred's bewilderment. "Only a truly good person would choose the well-being of others over their own, even after they've already done more good than anyone else could hope to do in their lifetime. Your request shows that you are a true hero, so I will grant you this. You shall no longer lose life for helping people, and that which you have already lost will be returned to you. The love which you wished about will be given to you, you must but find it. _

_But that is another adventure for another time, hero. For now, you may live your life however you wish. You only get but one- make the most of it."_

Alfred takes a deep, shuddering breath- and makes a decision of his own.

He sends the manuscript to Arthur's editor- no, _his_ editor now- and opens a new document.

Alfred decides to finish what Arthur had started. He knows he might not be half the author Arthur was, but he thinks he knows what Arthur would have wanted to happen.

As he writes, he has conversations with Arthur, good natured arguments about spelling and grammar, where a phrase should go or whether this or that terminology is too modern for the time of the books.

Alfred still continues his medical school though (graduating at the top of his class); he is determined to make the most of the life he has, and that includes saving others. He knows that Arthur would dismiss it as a silly, sentimental idea, but with each person he helps, it seems that Arthur's voice gets a little clearer in his mind.

Alfred doesn't find someone new, but he finds a whole new world in writing, in the world where he and Arthur are still together (Arthur being changed to a princess with an attitude named Abigail; the topic of many comments by Alfred's editor).

* * *

><p>Every year on the anniversary of Arthur's death, no matter whether Alfred is on a book tour or lecturing at a university about his advancements in the recognition and treatment of brain tumors, Alfred spends the entire day sitting with the scrapbooks, mementos, and pictures spread out around him, a mug of Arthur's favorite tea in his hand, and a sense of peace throughout him.<p>

He thinks Arthur would be proud.

* * *

><p>Authoress' Random Ramble<p>

This was inspired by a full day angst fest courtesy of BONES, Criminal Minds, and the general depression of the impending school year. I hope none of you cried too much.

Less than three, less than three.


End file.
